The Devil's Playthings
by Katenesse
Summary: In the wake of Vector's destruction comes the call for a cease-fire. With the fate of civilisation poised on a knife-edge, Terra's choices will ultimately determine which side the blade will fall on... [FFVI AU. Warning for some graphic violence]. [Terra, Kefka] [Leo] [Locke]
1. Prologue

**The Devil's Playthings**

**An alternative re-telling of the events of Final Fantasy VI, beginning with the fall of Vector and concluding in the siege at Thamasa. **

**Disclaimer: All rights belong to Squaresoft/Square Enix.**

* * *

**Prologue**

**_ACCORDING TO LEGEND_**_, the world was once a place of purity and freedom. Its people were untainted and knew nothing of sin. However, within this perfect realm lay a box which encased a formidable power. Unheeding to the warnings of its destructive potential, there was one who dared to unlock the secrets within. The lid was lifted, only to engulf the world in darkness. All that remained was a faint glow. Hope._

Each time Terra was reminded of the story, it became increasingly more difficult to know what her place was. Was she the ray of light? Or the one who stood with an empty box in her hands?


	2. The Fall of Vector

**THE CITY OF **Vector lay in ruins. From the steps of the Imperial Palace, Terra Branford watched the skeletal remains of buildings collapse upon themselves. Smoke circled upwards and inked in the sky, creating artificial night. Buildings, trees and people were consumed by the blaze. Terra squinted against the dancing flames, her shaking hand shielding her eyes from the orange glare. Buildings, trees, people… men, women, children… As the magnitude of the tragedy slowly sank in, she made a convulsive motion, halfway between a cry and a retch.

"Terra?"

Terra swung around, removing her hand from where she had clapped it over her mouth in shock.

"Banon!" she blurted out after a moment's shocked silence. "Banon – you're alive!" The Returners' leader stood at the top of the steps which led to the Imperial Palace, resplendent in his green robes. His tangled mane of auburn hair and beard bristled in the heat haze. The other Returners advanced the steps to greet their leader. Locke brought up the rear, panting in exhaustion.

"Terra… always charging off into… must have a… death-wish…"

Edgar strode forward and clasped Banon's hand warmly.

"Still in one piece," he cracked with his characteristically-charming smile, "and clearly you and the others have done a fantastic job of clearing up the Empire's soldiers. I take it this is our palace now?" Edgar seemed to scrutinise the towering fortress eagerly for a moment, a glint of pleasure in his eyes. "Sabin, I'll give you Figaro Castle as a thank you if you help me move my-"

"Actually," Banon interrupted the young king, "the Emperor is still alive. He has taken refuge with his people inside the palace, but he very much wants to speak with you." Terra tried to convince herself that Banon was using the collective 'you,' however his black, crinkled eyes were solely trained on her. She stared down at her boots uncomfortably for a moment and then, without looking up, unsuccessfully attempted to reassure herself.

"Me…?"

"Yes," Banon quipped without missing a beat, "he wants to speak with you, Miss Branford."

Terra continued to stare down at the ground and fiddle with a jewel-encrusted bangle on her left wrist nervously. She could scarcely describe the tangled mixture of emotions she felt towards Emperor Gestahl. When she pictured the old autocrat with his wizened features and long facial hair, she saw a man who had terrified her with his austerity yet, at the same time, a man who had raised her like a princess. For her, he had been her father, her king, her commander… but also the man that had signed her parents' death sentences.

"Terra, are you okay?" Locke's gloved hand gave her bare shoulder a reassuring squeeze, "we can go. Just say and we'll go back to the airship."

Terra's eyes glanced from face to face. Secretly, she cherished her friends for being so protective of her, but deep down she worried about their motives for standing alongside her through the war. Perhaps they had their own personal reasons, but Terra couldn't shake the fear that they were backing her as the winning piece in a highly-dangerous, global game of chess. Her mind drifted back to the evening she had spent at Figaro Castle. If only she had gone straight to bed instead of lingering on the stairs, eavesdropping. That was the night she had heard Edgar whispering to Locke…

_"If the Empire get her back, we won't stand a chance. She's our only hope. Whichever side has her, that's the winning side."_ Edgar could have been talking about one of his tools, rather than a human being.

No. She would not rely on them to save her. She would save herself.

"I'll go," Terra announced, rearranging her face into what she hoped was a look of sheer determination. She strode forward to the great, iron doors and shot two unfamiliar-looking Returners such a look of assumption that they rushed forward to open them for her.

Behind her, Terra could hear the echoing footsteps of her friends as they followed her along a cold, metallic corridor decorated with red carpets and banners, all of which bore the gold, Imperial seal. There were indeed guards inside the palace still, but obviously they had been informed of the Returners' arrival. At each set of huge, double doors, another pair of soldiers would rush forward and push them open. Not once did any of them comment or even look suspiciously at the mis-matched band of individuals who strode through the palace's halls: a young king, a burly-looking monk, a thief in poor man's clothing, a scrawny, wild-haired teenager who galloped on all fours, a thick-haired knight with a look of permanent disdain for his surroundings etched onto his features and a tottering man dressed in a grubby overcoat, all led by the Empire's prodigal daughter.

~̃*~*~̃

When they had at last reached the throne room and the final set of doors had been opened for them, Terra looked back to her friends for one last nod of reassurance, before she stepped forward.

"Lady Branford!" Gestahl announced, clapping his hands as if in long-awaited joy. Terra had extensive experience of the Emperor's erratic behaviour and knew to take his compliments and criticisms with a generous pinch of salt. He was much accustomed to playing favourites, and apparently Terra had now toppled Kefka for this so-called prize.

Gestahl rose from his golden throne. Behind him three huge, red banners read: _Conformity, Justice, Resilience_, each decorated with the iconic Imperial seal of a long-stemmed plant, not entirely unlike a fleur-de-lis. Behind Gestahl stood three figures, all of whom had been impeccably trained to rise to their feet in unison.

Generals Leo Christophe and Celes Chere were both dressed in the green, gold-lined cloaks which signified their esteemed army ranking. Terra could hardly believe how different Celes looked now from the last time she had seen her in Narshe. Celes' long, blonde hair hung loose, only held away from her face by two, tiny plaits which had been woven behind her ears. She wore thick gloves, polished armour plates, and such heavy, laced boots that she almost stood to Leo's height. Around her waist was slung a strong belt and sheath, which housed a fearsome-looking broadsword. There was barely any resemblance to the young girl who had encouraged Terra up the snowy mountainside and who had told her the little she had understood about love. This wasn't Celes, this was General Chere; the _Ice Queen_ herself. Terra stole a quick glance at Locke, whose jaw was set grimly. She wondered what thoughts were running through his mind.

Between Leo and Celes stood Professor Cid. Cid had obviously been at work in the labs as usual, for his hair was plastered over his head and his glasses still seemed slightly steamed-up from where he had been wearing his radiation suit. Again, in unison and with the precise timing of clockwork toys, the three Imperial servants bowed to their master. Terra twitched as if to do the same, more of an old habit rather than any lingering loyalty, but then found her body was locked by some unspoken act of rebellion. She looked Gestahl coldly in the face, a mingled combination of pride and fear making her hands and feet tremble. Then much to her shock, Gestahl bowed to _her_.

"Welcome home, my dear Terra," Gestahl said kindly, once the four of them were once again standing to their full height. "Please, take a seat. I have much I want to say to you."

Terra found she was frozen to the spot. She opened her mouth to reply, but instead gave a small sigh of affirmation and walked up onto the dais which bore the throne, a few smaller chairs which certainly had the ambition of being thrones, and a long table with perfectly ordinary chairs behind it. Terra and her companions took up most of the seats around the table, with Gestahl and his loyal subjects sitting opposite them. Gau started to crawl under the tablecloth, before Sabin yanked him out by the ankle.

"Such a splendid array of guests," Gestahl stated, his voice still warm with pleasure, "I do hope you will find your stay here comfortable. I have ordered a selection of Vector's finest dishes to be served from our kitchens in celebration of your visit."

Terra pushed a few strands of loose, mint-green hair from her face in frustration. Outside these walls a city lay in ruins, choked with fire and smoke and welding an unimaginable death toll. Despite this, Gestahl was too busy thinking about the dinner menu to organise rescue services or relief for the survivors. Edgar saw Terra's hands start to shake again, this time in anger.

"Terra, don't-"

But it was too late. Terra's hands formed into fists and slammed down onto the table top, her bangles jangling noisily.

"How - can you talk about food - at a time like this?!" Terra's voice came out broken and emotional. She hastily wiped away her tears with the back of her hand, trying to regain some composure before she could continue her point. Gestahl watched her pityingly and took one of her hands between two of his wrinkled claws.

"Terra," he soothed. Terra took a great gulp of air which caught noisily in her throat and tried to return to her line of attack.

"There are people out there!" she hissed, withdrawing her hand spitefully. Terra scraped her chair back loudly and flung an arm out towards the great, arched window beside them. Although they were quite a distance from the city at this height, coils of smoke could still be seen rising and obscuring the sunlight outside.

"Terra… there _were_ people out there," Gestahl said sadly, bowing his head so that his long moustache drooped all over the table, "our city and its people have been lost."

Cyan, raising his steely, grey eyes to the Emperor's face, eventually broke the stunned silence. "You mean… there were positively no survivors?"

"Only those that made it to the palace in time," Gestahl confirmed, still looking solemnly down at the table.

"We did organise a rescue effort," Leo explained in his clipped, precise voice, "Celes and I grouped who was left in our regiments and scoured the city. The flames were out of control however, and we retreated rather than put our soldiers at further risk."

"The laboratory and Magitek factory were badly hit," Cid continued. He stared into space, and a glazed look came over him, almost as if he was haunted by some unspeakable horror. "I have never seen Espers in the wild before. I mean to say, I have never beheld them without applying restraints or sedation. If I had known what they are actually capable of… I…" Cid ran his tongue across his teeth in thought, then shook his head at his own loss for words.

"Today is dark day in the Empire's history," Gestahl mourned, "which is why it is so important to me that we celebrate the one good thing to emerge from these tragic and devastating events; the end of the Magitek War."

Edgar, Cyan and Sabin all made similar sounds of exclamation. Terra silently slid back into her seat. Locke, however, was never afraid to blurt out what was on his mind.

"So, you're calling it off?"

Gestahl leaned back in his chair and surveyed the Returners over his long, arched fingertips. "If by that, Mr-"

"Cole."

"Mr Cole. If you mean are we "calling off" the war against the resistance, then yes. Quite simply, our pursuit for the Espers' power was a misguided obsession of mine, driven by greed. It is only now that I have realised quite how terrifyingly destructive their powers are, that the whole conquest seems suicidal. Perhaps even omnicidal." He gave a breathy laugh, which almost sounded like a cough. "With power this horrific… well, no good can come of it. Who could summon the strength to control such abilities? Who would want to?"

Terra frowned at the old Emperor, uncertainty gnawing at her insides. She folded her arms defensively across her lap.

"Why do you want us here then…?" Terra tried slowly, regretting the question as soon as she had asked it.

"Just as I declared war upon the world, I am now bound to declare peace," Gestahl replied, bowing his head once more. "I need to know that peace can be upheld between _us_."

"So… you're asking for a truce?" Edgar asked, his blue eyes widened in surprise. "You want us to hang up our weapons, and you hang up your weapons, and we forget the whole thing?" At that Cyan leapt furiously to his feet.

"I will never forget!" he cursed, his thick brows furrowed with rage, "I will never, _ever_ forget what you, you low-lives did with your dirty tactics-"

"I will never forget either," the Emperor replied in a voice barely above a whisper. His colourless eyes were glassy with emotion. "I am so sorry for all the atrocious acts of violence that have been committed in my name. None of them amounted to anything… for nothing was to be gained; only destroyed." He stood and motioned for his three loyalists to do the same.

"We hereby stand, pronounced guilty by the Emperor of the Southern Continent, of genocidal war crimes. The choice is, Returners, whether you would gladly put us and the tiny population who remain here to death in the name of justice. Or will you help us to rectify this most awful mistake and return the world to balance?"

Amazed by this proposition, Cyan also slowly sank back down into his chair. He stroked his short beard thoughtfully, although his face briefly lit up at the Emperor's suggestion of "justice." Terra looked around to see Edgar exchanging a private word with his brother, and Locke desperately trying to catch Celes' eye. Setzer was tilting his chair back as far as it would possibly go, his stare boring a whole into the ceiling. Again, she took her cue to speak.

"Emperor… if we were to help you fix all this… where would we even start?" Terra asked uncertainly.

"I would be… most honoured and humbled, if we could announce the peace declaration together." Gestahl's voice trembled with the emotion of a man whose life was at the mercy of his enemies. "It is vital that the Espers know that we no longer pose a threat to them. They will listen to you Terra. Until they do, the world will continue to be in danger." Terra chewed on her lip, slowly absorbing the old man's words. However, the next thing Gestahl said completely threw her off-guard.

"Terra, I want you to work with us, not just as a Magitek Knight – but as my Court Mage."

Terra felt the words fall clumsily into her mind, as if they were blunt objects devoid of all meaning. Court Mage.

"You want me to replace Kefka?" she gasped finally, "but why?"

"Kefka has been detained in the palace prison," Gestahl explained. "He doesn't understand the concept of 'peace' and became very upset about my change of heart." There was a sudden clatter as Sabin had to leap up and grab Cyan who was already making headway towards the door. The monk threw himself between Cyan's shoulder-blades and sent the pair sprawling down the last few steps.

"Cyan! Calm down he's _in prison_, there's nothing we can do at the moment," Sabin managed as he pinned Cyan's arms behind his back and pressed his knee into the knight's spine. Cyan struggled, howling and spitting into the crimson carpet.

"Terra?" Terra jumped at the sound of her name, as she and the others tore their gaze away from the racket ensuing at the bottom of the stairs.

"Um…" she expressed, with no fixed idea of what the rest of her sentence was about to contain. Finally she settled with; "can I have some time to think?" Gestahl nodded, his extravagant white moustache and beard billowing before him as he raised his arms in a benevolent gesture to the whole room.

"Take some time. Please make yourselves at home in the palace. To us, you are now our allies. Speak to the other men, form your opinions. We shall dine at seven this evening, if you care to join us. I… do hope you will support our new cause and help us to champion world peace." Gestahl's voice had taken on the pompous, booming quality which he used to give his speeches (although these were more often than not declaring world domination, rather than peace). "If you decide to fight and finish us, so be it. We have so little left to lose."

Terra could have sworn she saw a tear fall from the old man's eye into his long, snowy beard. He strode slowly away from the gathering, his hands clasped behind his back and dark robes trailing behind him. Leo stood and shook hands firmly with each of the Returners.

"This must seem very strange to you, but I hope you will consider Emperor Gestahl's offer," he said, giving a small smile of encouragement. He took Terra's hand last.

"It is a pleasure to see you again… Terra." Terra froze, uncertain as to whether Leo was about to kiss it. However, she relaxed as he let go and followed the Emperor down the steps. Cid murmured his goodbye, mostly to himself, before joining Leo in side-stepping around Sabin, who had almost succeeded in subduing his grieving friend. Only Celes swept from the room in silence. She had neither spoken, nor even looked at any of her former comrades the entire time.

Sabin stood and, taking Cyan by his arm, helped hoist the Doman to his feet. Cyan turned away, wiping a mixture of tears and saliva from his face.

"I must apologise Sir Sabin; my behaviour was entirely un-called for. I just heard the name 'Kefka' and – we Domans have a saying – sometimes a person can 'see red.'" Sabin smiled and gave Cyan a hearty pat on the back.

"Don't worry about it, pal," he said earnestly, "no one blames you for reacting the way you did." Cyan gave a great sniff, and folded his arms stoically.

"You see, when we say 'see red' it means a person can lose their composure. They become very angry, perhaps without being able to entirely justify why." Sabin's smile was fixed, and he had begun patting Cyan's back rather robotically.

"I get it, Cyan. We all do."

"Yes," Cyan continued without really listening, "I suppose, when one thinks about the origins of the saying, the colour 'red' is symbolic of anger, danger, blood-"

Sabin exhaled slowly through his teeth. Setzer, quite forgetting he was in the presence of the King of Figaro, elbowed Edgar in the ribcage and chuckled. "Boy your brother has the patience of a saint."

"Hello?" Locke interjected angrily, "why are we not discussing what just happened? What are we going to do?" He looked to his left for some support from Terra, but was alarmed to see she had vanished.

"Terra!" He looked all about himself, but she was nowhere to be seen. "Oh guys, I think we've lost her _again_."

~̃*~*~̃

Terra was indeed lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. She drifted through the corridors of the palace, hardly paying any attention to where her feet took her. She passed servants and soldiers, took flights of metal staircases and pushed against heavy doors. Eventually she began to take note of her route and realised she was walking towards the army barracks. A corridor led left to the soldiers' sleeping quarters, while a staircase on her right climbed upwards. Terra headed on up, her boots clanking against the rusty steps. She passed slightly more luxurious dormitories, some of which were designated for the commanding officers, and others which had been used to accommodate the surviving civilians who had fled the city.

Terra found herself at the top of the staircase and standing in a square-shaped hallway, adorned with tapestries and portraits. Two gigantic, arched windows embellished with beautiful stained glass threw shimmering multi-coloured rays of light onto the carpeted floor. Before her stood the four finest sleeping quarters in the palace, with the exception of the Emperor's own chambers. Leo's rooms were to the left; a corridor to Kefka's chambers faced them, while the door just along from that one led to Celes' rooms. Opposite this door was the entrance to where Terra had lived for fifteen years.

Her hand grasped the door-handle. What would it feel like to return here? It had barely been a month since she had left this place, but it felt like a lifetime ago. Terra chewed at her lip again, immersed in her thoughts. Perhaps it _was_ a lifetime ago since she had lived here and had actually been aware of her surroundings. The continued use of the Slave Crown had limited her consciousness, after all. Even now when she tried to remember, all Terra found in the recesses of her mind was a flickering series of images, like an old film reel. When she played through it, every other frame was still blank.

She turned the handle and walked through.

An extravagant, four-poster bed stood opposite the door, with red, chiffon curtains trailing from the bed posts up into a fixture on the ceiling. At the foot of the bed sat a heavy-looking trunk. On the left side of the room stood a large bookcase filled with dense reading material. Next to this was a dark, mahogany wardrobe and a quietly-ticking grandfather clock. On the right-hand side of the room stood a piece of furniture halfway between a dressing table and a desk, and a huge, red urn. An arched window, covered in tiny criss-crosses looked out over the grounds behind the palace. A door to the left of her bed led to a bathroom. Another to the right led to a small lounge with a chaise-longue and almost an entire wall of books. Terra's eyes traced over the details; worked hard to recount the memories.

She began her investigation on the left side of the room. The grandfather clock held no secrets. Terra rifled through her old wardrobe and found one side held armour plates, helmets, shields, arm-guards, boots and several sets of the navy-blue, Imperial uniform. A dusty mirror hung on the inside of the door. She dropped a helmet onto her head and stared at herself through the thin visor. Magitek Knight. Terra lifted this off and threw it on the floor with a _clang_. On the floor of her wardrobe lay a dagger and flail. She picked up the spiked ball-and-chain and swung it around her head, nearly knocking a candle out of its bracket and setting fire to her room. Terra hastily put it back. She would keep to the sword; a weapon which she had significantly more practice with.

The other side of her wardrobe seemed to completely contradict her range of army attire, for there hung a range of luxurious dresses. Terra ran her hands across the different materials… chiffon, silk, velvet. Each gown seemed fancier than the next. She selected a silken number and held it against her form. It was the same unusual shade of violet as her eyes. Terra twirled, the beautiful dress flowing around her. When would she have worn this? Had she danced in this dress?

A vague scene of a hall filled with people entered her mind. Her stomach had been in knots as her eyes flew from face to face. They had all been watching. Then the faces began to blur into a wave of colour as she spun around faster and faster, like a tiny figurine trapped in a music box. Terra remembered her awkward, mechanical waltz; remembered being fearful of the Emperor's critical gaze. _Remember the steps… smile… remember how I practised them… don't make any mistakes… follow Leo's lead… keep smiling…_

She hung the dress back in the wardrobe.

Terra ran a finger along the dusty spines of her books: _The Official Beast Diary Volumes I-IX, A History of Magic, The War of the Magi, The Combatant's Guidebook _and, quite out of place, _Tales of the Tonberry King_. Terra picked up the children's book and read the first two lines aloud to herself.

"Upon a hill sat Tom Tonberry, his pale yellow eyes, glowing like orbs. He looked towards the dark night's sky and sighed to himself." Terra froze. Although the voice started out as her own, in her mind it had transformed into a man's voice…

""Oh how will I prove my love to Tasmin?" he spoke into his hands…""

"Do the voices!" a young Terra had insisted, folding her tiny arms angrily across her chest, "you did the voices last time!" Her reader sighed.

"Tsk. Fine. "Oh_ how _will I prove my love to Tasmin?" he spoke into his hands, "I would fly to the moon and bring it back to her wrapped in a huge, silken bow if I could!"" There was a pause as Kefka turned the page. Terra could remember being snuggled up in her huge bed, the covers pulled up to her chin, and her stuffed moogle toy tucked into the crook of her arm. She closed her eyes as she listened. He was always so good at doing the different characters' voices.

"Charlie the Chocobo strode towards him, his golden feathers shining in the starlight. "_Waark! _What's wrong my dear friend, Tonberry Tom?" he asked, tilting his bright head to the side." Terra giggled at this. Kefka continued, switching between his soft, melodic tone and bird-like squawk with ease. "Oh Charlie, my sweet companion, Tamsin is never going to notice a pauper like me!" Okay you're asleep now, right kid?" Kefka jerked his head up hopefully. Terra opened one eye lazily.

"What's a _pauper_?"

Kefka sighed. "Y'see all those poor, smelly people cramming up Vector's gutters? Those are paupers. Not like you and me. We're all high and mighty or whatever."

Terra slammed her favourite, childhood book shut in shock. Kefka used to read to her? That psychotic clown had been in her _room?_ She gave a huge, involuntary shudder and hurled the novel at the book-case.

"Any other revelations around here…?" Terra muttered to herself as she continued to explore her old room. Buried between the pillows on her bed sat her beloved stuffed moogle, although now it bore a rather mocking smile, as if to say 'of course you didn't just make up that last memory! I'm real enough aren't I?'

Terra searched through the trunk at the end of her bed. Between the layers of clothing, her hands clasped around several glass vials. She discarded the potion and antidote, which were long out of date. The ether would keep for another month, so she slipped this into the small, beaded bag that was slung around her waist. The urn was upturned and Terra uttered a blood-curdling scream as a giant spider slid onto the floor. Before the creature even had the chance to demonstrate whether it was still alive, she had entombed the critter into a large block of ice. Wiping her damp hands hastily on her skirt, she considered where best to dump the frozen cube. A return to the urn seemed the best course of action. With the heaviest edition from _The Official Beast Diary_ series shoved on top for good measure.

Lastly she came to her table. On top of this sat a mirror which was hung with necklaces and smudged with traces of make-up. The desk bore bangles, beads, rings, jewels, sheets of paper and broken quills. Terra rifled through the items, glancing through history essays and homework she had completed on various grades of spells and evaluations on their use in combat. She had been trained as a killing machine, but it was strange how Gestahl, in his own, perverse way, had still attempted to raise her as a _normal_ girl. Only… she was anything _but_ normal…

Terra sank onto her bed with an exhausted sigh. Her hand found the golden locket that hung around her neck. Stroking this precious item with her thumb, she considered the monetary value of the other pieces of jewellery on her dressing table. None could match the worth of her mother's heirloom. It was the only piece of her parents that existed in this world. She lay backwards against the crisp sheets, her fists balled into her eye-sockets to block out the sunlight that filtered into the room. _If she could just remember what they looked like… if she could see but one portrait of them…_

The earliest memory Terra had was sitting on the cold table in Cid's laboratory, her tiny, doll-like legs kicking in rhythm with her infantile humming. There came a soft clank of a door closing, then three men entered, all wearing gloves and masks. The traumatised four-year-old had flailed and lashed out, screaming at the top of her lungs. Glass went flying and something exploded, sending a petrified Terra clambering clumsily into a half-empty cupboard for shelter. In her wake, she had left a melted collection of glass vials and test tubes, a blackened set of scales and a stack of papers smouldering in the wreckage. From her cramped hiding place, Terra had craned her neck up to stare into Cid's awed face.

"I told you the masks were necessary," he was explaining to his team, after removing his own. "But goodness, have you ever seen such power? Incredible!"

Back in the present, an eighteen-year-old Terra lifted herself heavily to her feet. These memories were simply adding salt to her wounds. She would never piece together the entire puzzle of her story and certainly none of this was paving the way forward to fixing the world. Miserably she forced herself from the room, dragging her boots along and scuffing the floor. Her squashed moogle toy dangled from her arm.


	3. The Fate of All Things

**Having edited this half to death, I think it's safe to say I'm now done with this chapter! Apologies for any confusion regarding all the changes.**

* * *

**LEO FOUND TERRA** some time later, leaning against the window frame in the corridor outside her room. Her gaze lingered vacantly on the space before her as she absent-mindedly fluffed the red bauble that hung from the stuffed moogle's head.

"You always used to do that," he broke the silence tenderly, folding his arms as he leant beside the window next to where she stood. Terra's unfocused eyes trained on him.

"What?" She dropped the moogle to her side as Leo gave a hearty laugh.

"I mean when you were little. You used to take that toy everywhere with you… and you'd talk to it and brush its fur. What was it you used to call him…?"

"Monty." The word fell from Terra's mouth automatically and she shook her heard in surprise. "Monty… where in the world did _that_ come from…?" Leo chuckled again.

"If you mean the toy… well, _I_ bought him for you. If you mean your memories… then they do have a funny way of finding their way back to you in the most unlikely places and at the most improbable times." He unfolded his arms and gently placed a hand on Terra's red sleeve; his brown eyes suddenly filled with some unknown emotion.

"The Slave Crown reduces your conscious thoughts to nil. Prolonged use over time can gradually warp or erase memories. It can make a person lose their sense of self." Leo's voice tremored uncharacteristically. He cleared his throat, unable to continue.

"I'm so sorry, Terra," he said managed quietly. Terra remained silent. She had long lost the will to scream or cry over her misfortunes. Fate had simply dealt her a bad hand and she was bound to play the stack she had been given, regardless of how unfair, painful or frightening it would be. Despite what the old autocrat had been harping on about peace, Terra knew that her role in sustaining the world's safety was her sole purpose and lifelong obligation. There was no alternative future that she could envisage.

"Emperor Gestahl wants to appoint me as his Court Mage," she spoke finally. Leo, who had been leaning heavily against the wall, shifted to face her. "What do you think I should do?"

The General seemed to mull this over solemnly for a moment as he ran a hand through his short, bristled, blonde hair. "I can't give you an unbiased answer on that one," he replied, "but the best piece of advice I can give you, Terra, is to not let anyone sway your decision. This _has_ to come from you."

Terra felt a stab of irritation at Leo's words. The answers she craved were whether accepting the job would be a safe thing to do, and if she was even qualified to actually become a Court Mage. Instead, Leo simply sounded like one of those sickening sentiments found cross-stitched upon a motivational wall-hanging. Silently admitting defeat, Terra gave an exasperated sigh and roughly handed Monty the Moogle back to the Imperial General.

"I wasn't trained to make decisions," she snapped, pushing her tousled hair out of her eyes irritably, "all I ever do is follow orders, so how Gestahl expects me to lead anyone is beyond me." Terra clenched her jaw, desperately flattening the emotion that was threatening to break her voice. "Thanks for the toy," she added shortly, "not that I remember you ever giving it to me." She made a performance of staring ahead blankly while tapping her forehead to show Leo what she meant, before turning on her heel and marching down the metal stair-case. She had made it about halfway down the short flight when Leo spoke.

"It was the last day of my leave. You were five years old. I was being deployed to Tzen and you begged me not to go." He was standing on the top step, leaning over the railing and looking down at Terra wistfully. As he continued, Leo's voice grew warm with nostalgia.

"You were this… excitable, little wild-haired thing; always asking to hear of my war stories. I'd only been in my late teens at the time and… I suppose like all other young, impressionable soldiers, I had been only too eager to share my zeal for fighting." He chuckled quietly, recalling more details. "In fact, I remember you charging through the palace and play-fighting with suits of armour until you were told off by the guards for causing such a racket."

Terra listened wordlessly. She had often wondered whether her childhood had been a happy one. Or whether having a dictator for a father and a fortress for a home had brought her any remote sense of joy during those early years. When had she learnt the fate of her true parents? Was that the reason she had been forbidden from arguing back or asking too many questions? Was that why she had been forbidden from thinking?

"I bought you the moogle and made you promise to take good care of him while I was gone," Leo concluded. Terra, who had not moved once during the conversation, gave an audible sigh and leant on her crossed arms, over the railing. She buried her face in her red, lace sleeves and her tangled, peppermint, ponytail fell lightly over her face. Tilting her head towards the landing above, she peered up through stray, green strands to see Leo holding a beautiful, golden pocket-watch to the dimmed light.

"We still have some time until dinner is served. We could walk to my office and have a cup of tea. Perhaps I could invite Cid to come along too, once he's finished talking to your friend about his airship? Perhaps, together, we can give you some more answers about your past?" Terra lifted her head and fixed him with an inquisitive stare.

"I know what happened to my parents," she began, although mostly to herself. Terra counted out the points on her fingers as she spoke. "I remember Professor Cid… I know _of_ the experiments but I'd rather not remember them in detail. Then there's just fragments floating around in my mind, you know? Nothing I can pin down in detail." She felt compelled to say more, but some of the images disturbed her so much that to speak of them out-loud would have committed them to reality. Even so, Leo seemed to understand exactly what she meant without her having to use words. He nodded to himself several times, then flashed her a smile which was clearly masking a much darker emotion.

"Terra, I want to give you the answers you need, but I was sent away quite often. After I was promoted to Imperial General, I was on leave almost constantly. I wasn't there when…" He gestured blindly, struggling to find a delicate way to describe Kefka's horrific enslavement of her mind. With a slow intake of breath, Leo quietly stepped down towards Terra, so they were only one metal stair apart.

"You should ask those who were there to see you grow up. Celes was acquainted with you… but you spent the majority of your childhood learning from your mentor." Leo paused, fearing the response he would receive upon his next word. "Kefka."

Terra's mouth hung open in silent outrage.

"And why would I ask _him_ anything? As if I could believe a word he says!"

"You'd be surprised, Terra," Leo tried lightly, "he loves acting up to an audience, but he can be quite a different man in closer company. We still have half an hour before dinner is served, if you'd like to stop by his cell?"

Terra hesitated. Was thirty minutes even long enough to unearth the multitude of answers that lay buried in the past? That was beside the point; could she even trust anything uttered by that maniac? An internal battle of anxiety and curiosity waged within her mind until, on the point of surrender, Terra looked up fearfully at Leo once more. She didn't have to say the words, for Leo instantly knew what Terra wanted to hear.

"Of course I'll come with you."

~̃*~*~̃

The pair made their way down the staircase in silence and turned back onto the palace's main corridor. Instead of taking the double doors leading to the throne room, Leo led Terra to a pathway on their right. They began down a cold, windowless passageway which snaked into the bowels of the palace. As their journey took them far away from the warmth of the surface, the air grew stale and damp. A shiver rippled Terra's limbs, but she knew that it had little to do with the drop in temperature. They were getting close.

"Before you do accept the job, Terra, I think you should know that the elaborate clown costumes and make-up is mandatory," Leo warned in a serious voice as Terra quickened her pace to walk beside him. She glanced at Leo, her violet eyes widened in mock surprise.

"Well I should hope so, otherwise I'm certainly not interested."

They quickly lapsed into a tense silence again, only to be broken by the echo of their footsteps on the metal walkway and the continuous drip from the rusted ceiling overhead. As the scenery became increasingly repetitive, Terra felt her mind begin to wander. It was then that, free from the restraint of her thoughts, a question fluttered unexpectedly from her mouth.

"Leo… what was Kefka like before he went… you know…" she gestured ineffectually, unsure of a tactful way to describe the condition in which a person found committing genocide to be a source of entertainment.

"Well…" considered Leo, clearly unprepared to reply with his initial reaction. _He must be unwilling to condemn a colleague_, Terra considered, _regardless of whether they had been dishonourably discharged or not._

"Everyone has their flaws, I suppose," Leo tried lightly, although it was still apparent that he was stalling for time to think of one character asset belonging to Kefka. With nothing else to add, he gave a defeated sigh.

"As with a lot of young recruits, Kefka was quite hot-headed, arrogant, and disrespectful to his superiors. He was never a particularly talented soldier and this meant that he didn't gain a promotion for many years. I know it was a sore point when those younger than him, including me, began to out-rank him." Leo hesitated, seeing that they were now very close to the cells, and dropped his voice to a low whisper.

"The trouble was… Kefka was also quite lazy. He refused put in the extra work and when the choice of fight or flight presented itself on the battlefield, he always slipped the enemy a smoke bomb and retreated. So much so, that even now we call that move 'The Palazzo.' I'm convinced that when Cid asked for a soldier to volunteer for the first Magitek infusion, Kefka simply saw an easy route to recognition and status, without the catastrophic consequences attached to it."

Leo's last words were barely audible above the racket ensuing along the hallway. The pair stopped just around the corner from the first row of jail cells, where a cacophony of screams, clangs and jeering resounded off the metallic walls. Before Terra stole the chance to insist that they return to the palace, two guards approached the Imperial General and estranged Magitek Knight. Both were dressed in the dark jade uniforms of Gestahl's empire and bore bronzed arm-guards, shoulder-plates and helmets.

"Sir!" the far left one cried, as both unanimously swept into the Imperial salute. "Orders sir?" Leo replicated their salute while Terra plucked awkwardly at the red lacing on her sleeve.

"We're here to see Kefka. As you were."

The guards relaxed from their austere poses and marched in opposing directions, continuing their pre-determined patrol routes. Leo stepped forward and, sensing Terra's apprehension, gently placed his hand on the crook of her elbow.

"If you're still okay to do this… I'll stay with you."

Without glancing back at him, Terra gave a single, resolute nod. If truth be told, she was frightened to utter a word, in case the extent of her fears poured forth like an open floodgate. The pair rounded the corner to face a row of narrow cells, all occupied by a selection of the most dishevelled dregs ever witnessed by society. Although Terra tried to avoid looking directly at him, it was difficult not to notice Kefka's colourful robes amongst the sea of grey, drab prison uniforms which surrounded him.

Unlike the other convicts who were incessantly lashing out and screaming obscenities, Kefka sat silent and motionless on the bench in his cell. By now, Leo and Terra were standing in front of the barred door, peering at Kefka as though he were a rare piece of artwork displayed in an exhibit. Leo raised a hand and rapped his knuckles against the metal, which clanged and vibrated noisily. Kefka made no form of involuntary movement.

"Kefka?" Leo tried. The disgraced ex-General neither flinched nor blinked at hearing his own name. Perplexed, Leo leaned his forehead against the cell's bars, trying to decipher the expression on the man's face. It was too dark to tell but, as Terra nervously stepped forward, it looked very much as if Kefka was smiling.

"Why is he just sitting like that…?" she whispered in a frightened voice, inching as close to the cell door as she could will herself to. Her eyes were fixated on the solitary figure who sat as lifeless as a painted, wax statue. Leo fruitlessly called for Kefka's attention a final time, before heaving a small sigh of resignation.

"Come on, Terra." His tone was tainted with a bitterness that she had never heard before. As she looked over, Terra was astonished by the hardened expression on Leo's face. It was no secret that the pair had their differences, but only now did she truly understand the extent of the animosity which existed between the Imperial Generals.

"Sir…?" A commanding officer, dressed in navy-blue and shouldering a bayonet, appeared at Leo's side. "Sir… the Emperor has requested…" Leo held up a hand to silence the soldier and, offering his apologies to Terra, led the young man out of ear-shot. As the pair's voices lapsed into urgent whispers, Terra self-consciously turned her head away. What she saw made her blood run cold.

Kefka was watching her.

One pale finger was outstretched towards the very place in which she stood. Then, tentatively, the ex-General lifted it to his sanguine lips; a steely glint reflected in his unyielding gaze. Terra's hands jumped together; nails piercing the flesh of her hands. She froze, dumb and horrified, as Kefka slowly and deliberately repeated the gesture. Of course, she could read what he wanted. _You._ _Come back here alone. Tell no one. _

The real question was… why?

"Thank you," Leo concluded with such a note of finality in his voice that the young soldier was compelled to awkwardly adjust his weapon, salute and then stride from the room. Terra gave quick, frightened glance in their direction, before turning back to Kefka and inclining her head by the smallest of fractions.

"Apologies again, Terra," Leo sighed dully, "I seem to have wasted your time after all." He removed the pocket-watch from his robes again, as though to measure just how extensive his inconvenience had been upon her. "We should return now. There's only fifteen minutes left until dinner."

Without a word, Terra accompanied Leo up through the cold, narrow hallway. Although she tried hard not to imagine that solitary, pale face looming out of the darkness of his cell, Terra bristled as she felt Kefka's gleaming eyes follow her from the room.

Emerging onto the Palace's main corridor, Leo and Terra were once again apprehended by a pair of Imperial soldiers. Leo politely dismissed the men, explaining that the Emperor urgently requested their presence at the banquet.

"Sorry sir, it's Lady Branford that has been summoned," the more portly of the two clarified with a nod in Terra's direction. "His Grace bids you to go and dress for dinner. You are then to join him at the top table in the Great Hall." Scrutinising her red dress closely, Terra considered what exactly was considered befitting for banquet. Perhaps he had laid out one of her old gowns for her to wear? There was little doubt in her mind that the Emperor would stoop as low as reminding her of her privileged past and the gifts she had once been indulged with.

"I'll go and change then…" Terra began, her voice weighed with uncertainty. Leo offered one final, reassuring smile, leaving her little choice but to return up the staircase to her old rooms.

~̃*~*~̃

As she neared the square-shaped hallway once more, Terra stopped dead in her tracks. There were two attendants waiting outside the door to her chambers.

"Lady Branford!" a plump, ruddy-faced woman came forward, smiling so earnestly that her black eyes disappeared within the creases of her skin. She wiped her coarse hands on her woollen tabard and then pushed the door open wide. "We've laid out all yer things. You got yer ointments, powders and such. Let us know when yer decent my lady!" Baffled by this strange intrusion, Terra glanced from the woman to her pinched-looking counter-part, who perched silently by the window.

"Thank you." Once Terra had closed the door behind her, she could not help but sink against the wooden doorframe; her breath escaping her in a long sigh of relief.

A variety of garments had been laid out across her bed. Terra picked up each item of clothing, marvelling at their exotic colours against the dying candlelight. She began by pulling on a pair of cream and purple mottled tights. Next came a strapless, red, silk dress, embellished with tiny lilacs. Smoothing out the creases in her skirt, Terra picked up her purple sash and tied this securely around her waist. Once she had finished dressing, she balled up her own lace dress and left this, along with her red boots, at the bottom of her wardrobe.

The last item was a set of striking, lilac and gold robes. Terra threw them over her head, only to flail around helplessly in the enormous folds of fabric. With a hiss of vehemence, she tore them from her arms and hurled them into a heap on the floorboards.

"I'm decent!" she gasped, pushing her straggled fringe from her eyes. The door opened and the attendants crossed her room. With a great fussing and clucking, the two women gathered several miss-matched sashes from the piles of fabric on Terra's bed and began looping them about her waist. The younger, sallow-faced woman plucked the robes from the floor and placed them around Terra's narrow shoulders, fastening them securely the _snap_ of a golden broche at her throat.

"Arms through here," she stated blandly. Terra lifted her arms into two great, gaping sleeves which swept open right to the tops of her arms. The dimpled woman beamed at her.

"Look at those colours," she admired as Terra took several, awkward steps around in a circle. The ornate, golden stitching did indeed shimmer majestically, even in the dim lights of her chamber. "Fire resistant of course, and perfectly lightweight. Robes for a proper mage! They don't make 'em like that anywhere but in Vector." Terra lowered her aching arms.

Wriggling her toes into two gleaming, leather boots, Terra patiently endured while her attendants continued to decorate her. A section of her hair was pulled back and knotted to the top of her head with her red ribbon. Bangles and rings adorned her wrists and fingers. Heavy jewels were hung in her ears and her golden locket was fastened at her neck.

As the attendants wove the vibrant tapestry around her, Terra peered into the crooked mirror which hung on her wardrobe door. She stood stranded; her tiny form swarmed by a sea of colour.

The final touch was a small tiara, which was scraped into place tightly over Terra's hair. She felt the blood pound against her temples. A small bead hung down from the centre of the tiny crown and trembled against her forehead.

"Now for yer make-up…" the plump woman murmured softly, wiping her hands on her tabard again. Terra shook her head stiffly.

"Um… not yet thanks…"

She turned and began to walk rigidly from the room, gathering as much of the robes in her hands as possible to save herself from tripping over them.

"Lady Branford, there was one more thing!" Uttering a small sound of frustration, Terra managed to carefully retreat back to her place in the centre of the room where the two women were quietly bickering over a thin, wooden case. The ruddy-faced woman took the box and placed it in Terra's hands.

"Emperor Gestahl, his Esteemed Grace, wanted you to have this."

Terra fumbled with the latch until it clicked, then lifted the lid. The velvet casing contained a steel mace with a polished, mahogany handle. As she held the weapon aloft, Terra watched the deadly, spiked ball swing like a pendulum from its chain. Raised letters formed themselves under her fingertips. Terra craned her head to the side. _Morning Star_.

"This is Kefka's…" she whispered hoarsely. The two woman shared a dubious glance.

"He won't be needing it, where _he's_ going…" the younger woman replied, her thin mouth pulled down distastefully at the corners. Her accomplice nodded eagerly, as though to validate the rumour.

Terra stared, mesmerised by the weapon's swaying chain. So, Kefka was to be executed after all.

The vague details of the scaffold sketched themselves within her subconscious. Terra saw the steps; advanced them warily in her mind. With each motion, the cold, out-stretched fingers of Death grasped ever closer. She knelt before the block; numb hands clasped to the wooden deck. Soon these boards would be painted scarlet. The only solace lay in the inevitable. Where there was no hope, there was no fear. A cool breeze swept the hairs on the back of her neck. With the wicked glint of the blade came the comfort of destruction. It was the fate of all things.

The sudden stirring of nausea tightened her throat. With a convulsion of horror, Terra hastily dropped the weapon back into its box with a clatter.


	4. We're Not Like Them

**TERRA DESCENDED** **THE** staircase down to the Great Hall, still taking care not to trip over the many folds of her lilac robes. As she swept towards the huge, double doors, two armed, Imperial soldiers greeted her with salutes.

"My Lady, the Emperor eagerly awaits your presence," the guard on the left announced in an unctuous voice. Terra briefly dropped her head in acknowledgement; the fabric of her robes rustling within her clenched fists.

"Thank you."

Beyond the doors came the strains of violin music, accompanied by the staccato plucking of bass strings. The melody lilted into a waltz rhythm, swelling to a crescendo as Terra entered the hall. In her current attire it would be difficult to remain inconspicuous. Regardless, she kept her head lowered, intending to discreetly pass through the crowds.

Despite herself, Terra could not help but gaze upon the scene, astonished by the magnitude and diversity of the guests who had attended the Emperor's banquet. Five long, oak tables ran the length of the hall, seating aristocrats from Tzen, Maranda and Albrook. Imperial officers were gathered in small groups about the chamber, resplendent in their pressed uniforms. A string quartet sat assembled to the left. The refugees from the city were nowhere to be seen.

An intricate, multi-tiered chandelier, encased with a thousand dancing lights, cast an intimate glow over the room. Red and gold banners fell from ceiling to floor. Vases filled with vibrant, red roses embellished every table, ledge and windowsill. The air was warm and still; imbued with a sickly-sweetness. Servants strode about the hall; each bearing a white cloth napkin over one arm, with the other outstretched underneath a platter laden with food. Unwelcome eyes and intrusive murmurs disrupted Terra from her observations. Several noblemen on a table to her right had noticed her; some setting their drinks down to comment more animatedly on her arrival. With an unpleasant, creeping sensation, she lifted her robes and continued to the top table, dragging along fragments of dried rose petals which had been scattered across the floor.

"Welcome Terra," Gestahl's voice reverberated warmly from upon the dais. As she approached, the Emperor rose from his seat, his arms held open towards a vacant chair on his right. He had changed into an elegant set of black robes with silver edging, and his white hair was combed back beneath a squat, black cap. Terra climbed the few carpeted stairs to her seat and settled herself on a velvet cushion at his side. She glanced down, where her feet swung significantly short of the floor. From Gestahl's other side, Leo smiled at her.

"You might not need that cushion," he observed dryly, "Kefka always insisted on using it. I suppose it added something to his height." Gestahl swiftly raised a skeletal hand to silence his subject.

"Leo, please. I do not want that man's name mentioned in my presence." His eyes glared as hard and dark as granite in the flickering candlelight. Seizing a miniature, brass bell from his place setting, the Emperor rung a clear, shrill note in the air. With mechanic precision, two servants turned on their heels and marched up to the dais, platters in hand. Terra leant forward to catch Leo's eye again, but he had turned his head to speak with Celes. She sank back in her seat as one waiter topped up Gestahl's glass with red wine. Another presented a tray of iced king prawns and curls of smoked salmon, drizzled with caviar. After a moment of scrutiny, Gestahl waved his hand dismissively, leaving the servant to return to his other guests. Each place setting upon the Emperor's table bore one of these tiny bells, Terra noticed. In theory, she could summon her own tray of canapés, should she so desire. As she looked down upon the hall to see if any other individuals had been extended the same privilege, her attention was drawn to the table closest to her own, where The Returners had been seated.

"Wine, my lady?" Without any such signal, a waiter had materialised before Terra, bearing a tray of drinks. She stared at the array of narrow glasses, each filled with pink, bubbling liquid, and reached out a hand hesitatingly.

"Thank you…" Before she had touched the wine to her lips, Gestahl's resonant voice uncannily stalled her arm.

"Terra, you look magnificent." Some of the warmth had returned to his grey eyes as he studied her form over his own glass. "I knew those robes would suit you." Terra self-consciously adjusted her lilac sleeves so that they were gathered neatly on her lap.

"I'm sure there's enough gil in my purse to reimburse you," she replied, staring down determinedly at her place setting. Gestahl waved a gnarled hand indifferently.

"Please. They are a gift. Considering everything I've done… it's the very least I can do for you." There was a deep purr to his voice as he spoke. Terra raised her head to take in the Emperor's earnest gaze then, diffidently, she answered him.

"Well, thank you."

"You are most welcome, my dear," Gestahl replied tenderly. He stroked his long, silver moustache onto his lap from where it had curled upon the table, before adding, "I am at the mercy of your compassion, after all… which is why it is so difficult to ask a further favour of you."

"What is it?" Terra asked, attempting to keep her tone light. Her fingers found the stem of her glass and clasped at it tightly. Emperor Gestahl heaved a great sigh and glanced up towards the ornate chandelier, his papery skin creased with a sense of mingled nostalgia and sorrow.

"You might not be aware, but this palace was built twenty years ago to commemorate the dawning of an era of peace and prosperity. It involved an alliance of the finest architects from the Southern Continents. A collaborative masterpiece." He took a generous sip of his wine, then swilled the contents of his glass pensively. "It has been said that these unyielding walls shall never crumble. But what good can come, may I ask you, of bricks and mortar when the Empire it once encompassed, has fallen?" Terra's eyes averted to where the serving staff were setting down bowls of thick, steaming soup upon their table. A waiter strode briskly behind them, offering a selection of different breads to accompany the course. Gestahl neglected to turn his head, leaving the servant to await his decision with ascetic patience.

"I long for the past, Terra. For a chance to redeem myself and my people. If we could only make the Espers understand…" he lowered his head and continued in hushed, mournful tones, "I fear you are the only one with the ability to forge such an alliance."

_Whichever side has her, that's the winning side._

"I…." Terra faltered.

"You crave peace, as much as I?" Gestahl pressed her, his voice thick and urgent. Without looking away at his waiter, the Emperor jabbed at the air with his finger. A slice of granary bread was placed onto his plate with shining tongs.

"Yes…"

"Then please, do as I beseech you. Ask the Espers to show us the same mercy you have so dutifully extended towards us." Terra, who had begun to lift her drink, set it down again so suddenly that the liquid within her glass hissed furiously.

She knew that her heritage as part-human, part-Esper marked her out as a natural ambassador between the two races. Even so, there was still something surreal about the Emperor's request. Terra had only recently unearthed her magical identity. It was a part of her that had lain dormant within the roots of her family history; a history entombed and interred upon Gestahl's command. He had been the one to deprive her of this secret, buried world. How could the same man ask her to reach out to her estranged kin? No. They were too long gone. Concealed too deeply for her to even comprehend…

"A vessel is sailing from Albrook to Crescent Island tomorrow morning. You would accompany Leo and, acting as my Court Mage, represent the Empire's interests throughout our peace negotiations." Without taking his eyes away from her, Gestahl lowered his spoon to his bowl, awaiting her response in baited silence.

Drawing out the seconds, Terra took a cautious sip of her drink. A foul, bitter taste burned the back of her throat and made her retch. She half-dropped the glass, coughing, before hastily gulping down a glass of water which had been set next to her place.

"I'm sorry!" she managed, swiping a napkin to begin mopping up the spilt wine. As her eyes met the Emperor's she hesitated, the cloth pressed against the table's dampened surface. "I'm… sorry," Terra repeated slowly, her voice weighed with implication. Gestahl held up his hand to silence her, just as he had done previously with Leo.

"I understand, my dear. It must seem very confusing to come here and receive gifts, to be served extravagant food… to have those criminals you call _friends_ welcomed as allies." For the first time in their conversation, Gestahl waved a hand over to where The Returners were seated below them, whispering amongst themselves. As he continued, the Emperor leant in so closely to Terra that the foul curl of his sour breath lashed at her.

"I _have_ been courteous tonight, haven't I, my dear? _Unusually_ courteous." Terra dipped her head wordlessly, her fingers still tightly clamped around her napkin. Gestahl straightened, malice etched into each line of his wizened face.

"My Empire was not built on gallantry and negotiations. Never forget that."

After he had turned away, Terra stared down at her trembling hands in silence. The unpleasant after-taste of the wine still seared her throat. She attempted a few feeble mouthfuls of her soup but, with her taste-buds corrupted, resolved to swirling the contents of her bowl with her spoon. Her bread was left untouched.

All around her, the clatter of cutlery mingled with the hearty chatter of the Emperor's guests. The string quartet played long into the night, as bowls were collected and replaced with plates of roast venison, pigeon and lobster, all braised in heady, rich wine sauces. Terra picked at each course, saying little to Cid, who had joined their table halfway through the banquet. When the dessert dishes were finally cleared from the tables, Gestahl rose to his feet, clapping his withered hands together. An instantaneous stillness fell upon the hall.

"My friends, it has been a pleasure to have broken bread with you this evening. All of us have trod a different path. We have traversed innumerable lands, climbed expansive mountains, crossed multitudinous oceans… travelled the four corners of the globe. Tonight we meet beneath one roof and, whatever the journey we have undertaken, our purpose has been the same. Peace." Applause exploded at the old autocrat's words. He awaited their silence with patience, before continuing in reverent, melodic tones.

"I look back to the past and remember the dedication of my late father. He set out with one goal: unite the people. For the first time in several generations, we are able to call his life's work complete." The applause of his supporters swelled appreciatively.

"I vow to end all wars," Gestahl continued, his voice amplified masterfully over the crowd, "those who I had once sworn my enemies, I now proclaim my kin. The final frontier to establish peace and order lies in the West. It is the Espers with whom we must now call upon to honour our ceasefire. I have appointed my Court Mage and ambassador…"

Beside her, Cid leant towards Terra's ear.

"He wants you to stand." She glanced from the professor's solemn expression to Gestahl, who had uncurled his brittle fingers towards her. A sea of gleaming eyes watched her from beyond the candlelight. Terra rose from her seat, the folds of her robes trailing from limp arms. She stood, hands clasped and head bowed, as the Emperor continued.

"My subjects shall embark to Crescent Island tomorrow. A treaty will be signed and the pages of history shall celebrate our accomplishment; for, tomorrow, we seal our freedom." A standing ovation followed the Emperor's words; the walls of the chamber resounding with cries of praise.

Terra's eyes trailed across the obscured faces of the crowd. A steady pulse beat against her temple, morphing the sounds of clapping into a muffled drumroll. Sickened, she pressed a shaking hand against her forehead. The numbness following Gestahl's threat was beginning to dissipate, leaving her to slowly absorb this unfathomable turn of events. She was leaving for Crescent Island tonight as Gestahl's Court Mage… Of all those she knew, no one could possibly understand what it meant to be cornered into such a position…

Except one.

After the noise of the crowd died away, the palace's serving staff began to circle the hall with trays of tea. Outside, the sky was draped in empty folds of black, as though the stars themselves had been plucked from their pattern. It would be difficult to pass by the prison cells unnoticed at this time of night. Seeing that Gestahl had engaged himself in conversation with Leo, Terra stole her chance to slip past Cid's seat and down the carpeted stairs. She weaved between the crowds, avoiding the outstretched hands of well-wishers, until she reached the pool of firelight which spilled from beyond the double doors.

"_Hey_!"

Terra gasped as a hand caught her by the wrist. Behind her stood Edgar, looking uncharacteristically grave. In the stifling heat of the hall, he had discarded his cape and turned back the loose, white sleeves of his tunic to his forearms.

"What are you doing?"

"Going for a walk," Terra replied blithely. She turned away to demonstrate, but Edgar's grip on her arm tightened. There was something disquieting about his expression. He had always possessed a playful lightness within his mannerisms; a hint of mischief in the curve of his mouth. Now, his stare was cool, even hostile.

"I'm not talking about right now," he breathed, drawing her a step closer to him, "in the general sense - what are you doing? You're working with the Empire now?"

"Of course not!" Terra gave a quick, nervous glance about them, then lowered her voice to a barely-audible whisper. "It'll be better for all of us if I go with them to Crescent Island." Edgar inclined his head towards her own; his lips barely moving as he spoke.

"Well, I don't like it."

"Nobody said you had to."

Both were motionless; Edgar's hand still encircling her wrist. Terra looked ahead to the doors. Below where they stood, within his cold, steel vault, Kefka was waiting. For how long, she couldn't be sure.

"Terra, I don't trust them."

"Neither do I... we'll just have to be careful." Feeling Edgar's fingers slacken, she twisted her arm free and adjusted her robes more securely around her shoulders. The young King folded his arms across his black waistcoat.

"Locke's already said he's coming with you, you know?" Terra had scarcely opened her mouth in disagreement, when he gave a cavalier wave of his hand. "Save it. You know he won't take no for an answer."

"What will you do?"

"The rest of us will keep an eye on things back here." Amidst the pale glow of the lamplight, his face seemed to soften. "I can tell you've got a lot on your mind. Did you… want some company on your walk?" Terra shook her head, the bead from her tiara quivering restlessly.

"No, go back to the others. I'll join you shortly. I just need some air…" Fanning herself with her hand, Terra stepped backwards and disappeared into the corridor. One last glance told her that Edgar had conceded and returned to his table.

~̃*~*~̃

Terra walked briskly down the passageway through which Leo had led her earlier. As the air cooled, she drew her robes more tightly about herself. With every few paces she froze, sensing some unknown disturbance about her. Only once Terra had convinced herself that she was not being tailed, could she will herself to continue. That was, until the next soft sound of a footfall drew her to a sudden halt.

Even with her cautious progress, the journey to the cells seemed swifter than when she had accompanied Leo. As Terra rounded the final corner, the first bleak row of jail cells materialised before her. An eerie silence had spread, subduing the incessant clanging and animalistic hollering which had rung throughout the metallic corridors earlier. Her eyes swept the scene then, as she stepped forward, an armed guard strode into view. Terra retreated into a shallow alcove and stilled her breath.

"What time is it, sir?" Heavy footsteps, accompanied by a low, throaty voice.

"Nine o'clock." An exasperated sigh followed. "Who's meant to be relieving you?"

"Lewes," the first voice groaned.

"I'll get onto him. Everything's in order here. Head over to the hall."

"Thank God, I'm starving! Have they served the mains yet?"

"Uh…" the deep voice reverberated, "I'd get a move on if I were you."

There came the echo of footsteps. Terra froze until the sounds became muffled amongst a lone, mournful voice. The ballad held the lilting quality of an old sea shanty, but with the tragic inflection of a dirge. Seizing her chance, she whipped around the corner and dashed to the second row of cells. Only as she approached the final compartment, did Terra feel her legs begin to leaden. She had made it this far, but for what purpose? What terrible conspiracy had Kefka decided to involve her in? An awful, creeping panic rose and tightened her throat. The singing had stopped.

"Oh, you came?" Terra felt each fibre of her body tense as Kefka's voice floated out of the darkness. For a moment she stood motionless in the gloom of the grey corridor. With an effort, she broke forward.

"You asked me to."

Kefka sat on the low bunk in his cell, his white hands clasped together. Tufts of lank, blonde hair had fallen from his pony-tail and plastered themselves to his shining face. The red swirls inked around his eyes were smudged into crimson blemishes, while the same shade smeared his thin mouth like a knife wound. Through the sheen of paint stared two pale eyes which carried, as always, both a hint of incredulity and a promise of the wrath which always followed.

"I don't see you wearing a Slave Crown," Kefka replied scathingly. Suppressing a chill, Terra hugged folded arms to her chest.

"What do you want, Kefka?" she asked, her voice betraying a surge of anxiety. He held his fierce, gaze; the corners of his mouth downturned like a grotesque tragedy mask.

"You spoke to Leo, behind my back. I want to know what he said."

The absurdity of the request left Terra wordless in astonishment. Kefka had been sentenced to death for genocidal war crimes. The day he left this dank, miserable cell would be his last spent alive. What trifling matter could concern him as much as facing his own oblivion?

"I… I can't remember," she faltered, distracted by her own dark thoughts. The pressure from the tiara was causing her head to throb unbearably. There came the rustle of material as Kefka slid to his feet and swept towards her, stopping only inches from the rusty bars which separated them.

"You're a horrible liar," he sneered. Terra glared back steadfastly, but remained silent. He studied her for a moment then, as if to conclude their brief encounter, the captive turned his back and strode away into the dark recess of his cell.

"Wow… he's really got you eating out of his hand, huh?"

"What?" The question fell from Terra's lips before she had fully digested Kefka's words. She watched him pause, then make an elaborate performance of smoothing down the thin, grey blanket which lay strewn across his bunk. She took a step; clasped the cold metal of the bars.

"What did you say?" Kefka gave his bedding a final dust and then offered her a disinterested glance over his shoulder.

"Leo." He waved a conversational hand as he meandered leisurely back over to her. "And Gestahl… they've got you on a real tight leash!"

"What do you-"

"Look at all these _treats_…" Kefka's voice escaped him in a low hiss. "Very pricey too! How many hoops did you have to jump through for _these_?" A white hand twitched, then scuttled down Terra's sleeve, before jerking a handful of satin through his door. Stricken dumb by the shamefully-casual violation, Terra yanked her robes from his grasp.

"I'm not sure why I came here," she attempted with a feigned air of indifference, but her voice had lost the barbed edge which had initially presented itself. There was more Terra wanted to add and yet, the words evaporated as quickly as they rose. The pounding in her temple had intensified too. She touched her fingertips gingerly to her forehead.

"I know why." Kefka's ghoulish face emerged between the cell's bars. He observed her languidly through half-closed eyes. "I whistle, _you_ come running." Terra felt a twinge of irritation and then, quite inexplicably, her face threatened to flood itself with heat. A nasty smile played about the corners of the captive's mouth.

"Secondly…" Kefka continued, relishing the cutting impact of every word he launched, "you think that if you're a _very_ good girl, I might tell you what kind of plan Gestahl's really got up his sleeve. Isn't that right? Hmm?" Terra met Kefka's hooded gaze with her own expression of weary cynicism.

"But you're not going to."

"Why wouldn't I?" he yelped in astonishment. His eyes, two blue bolts, flashed dangerously. "Gestahl… he… left me to _rot_ in this cess pit…" A spasm contorted Kefka's face; his breath wrenched from him in one painful gasp. He struggled, inarticulate from some internal turmoil, before releasing his animosity in a stream of hissed curses.

"…selfish selfish selfish!" he foamed, "the things I'll do - serves him right!"

"Please!" Terra urged, though the echo of her voice made her cringe as it spiralled away from them, down the metallic corridor. Kefka's eyelids drooped, then fluttered closed. Although his voice came no louder than a sigh, each softened syllable was dropped deftly upon her ears.

"What - did - Leo - say - about - me?"

In the embers of the dying torchlight, Terra lifted her hand to inspect the intricate embroidery on her glove. Clusters of tiny lilacs were woven beautifully against red silk. She traced them with her finger, pausing at a place where the pattern had frayed. The material must have caught on something; difficult to say when. One more pull of a loose thread and the stitching would come entirely undone.

"Well…?"

And what if she did tell him? It was such a juvenile request. What did it matter what Leo had said? Did this qualify as a betrayal, in the true sense of the word? What would anything she say matter when, in a day or two, Kefka would be… Terra felt her throat constrict horribly.

"He said…" She could not help but look away. "He said… you weren't… a talented soldier…" Although her lips had barely moved, Terra's final words rang awkwardly in the air between them as though they had been bellowed at the top of her lungs. After several, slow minutes of deliberation, Kefka lowered his head. His knuckles blanched as his shaking hands enclosed more tightly around the cell's bars.

"But after your infusion, everyone recognised you!" Terra found herself blurting out, "Even Leo said so." Her own hands jumped together; nails cutting into skin.

"Incredible…" Kefka's gaze had travelled to the far wall, where it remained vacant and unblinking upon a distant point. "Terra… didn't you ever hear what happens when you bite the hand that feeds you?" She stared back at him in bewilderment.

"No…"

"You wind up licking the boot that kicks you!" Kefka bore his teeth savagely. "Never thought you'd sell out good old _Leo_."

"I didn't-"

"Then again," Kefka's voice swept over her, "Gestahl and Leo asked for it. What did they expect, inviting a wild animal into the palace? Idiots."

Terra turned the statement over in her mind, sizing up each word carefully. There was no misunderstanding about it.

"What… did you call me?" Her voice shook; more anger than fear now. There was a crackle of un-expelled energy in Kefka's eyes, like a grey, cloud-swirled sky threatening a storm.

"You know. A cross-breed. A mongrel. Whatever you-"

"Shut up!" Terra's hands were clenched into trembling fists. Kefka's expression was one of mild surprise rather than amusement.

"Surely you figured out that you're not _normal_."

"I'm half-human!" Terra roared, "a-and that's more human than _you'll_ ever be!"

"Still it's not enough, is it?" Kefka had settled himself under crossed legs, on the floor of his cell. His head lolled against the cell wall; red-smeared eyelids lowered against her once more. "We're not like all those _normal_ people. We never will be."

"I'm nothing like _you_," Terra spat, "you're the devil. You spread misery and fear and destruction wherever you go! You treat people like… like… _toys_. You'll use them as long as you need to, then d-dispose of them like garbage! It's as if their lives mean _nothing_ to you! A-as if you can't feel their suffering! And it doesn't matter whether you're too tormented by your own pain or whether you can't feel any damned thing at all – you're just pure evil. That's why I'm _nothing_ like you."

She turned away, wiping her face with her sleeve.

"Don't make this so personal," Kefka crooned, "we both know _you're_ the toy_._"

"Why-" Terra clamped her eyes shut against the tears. She swallowed, desperate to repair her fractured voice, but such agony rose in her throat as she had never been able to confront before. It tore at every word she spoke, so that Kefka had no choice but to lift himself to his feet and catch the fragments of whispered syllables which fell.

"_Why_ did you do it?"

She pressed a hand against her trembling lips. Kefka remained entirely unmoved, as though silently contemplating the question. Of course, he knew exactly what he was being asked. There could be no misinterpretation.

"Didn't have a choice," he replied finally. Terra raised her reddened eyes to his self-satisfied smile, and felt a fresh surge of fury sear her blood like sulphur.

"You turned me into a _mindless puppet_ just to make me-"

"Just to _stop_ you." Terra shook her head, urgently trying to slow her ragged breath.

"The Empire gave you everything." Kefka had begun to pace aimlessly around the cell, his green robes trailing along the damp ground. As he spoke, he ticked off each point upon a skeletal finger. "You owe your life to Gestahl. You owe your magic to _me_. Sure, maybe a little to genetics too… but let's be honest, it was pretty much all me. Unless all those gruelling hours of practice escaped your memory?"

Terra thought back to the scrolls of parchment which covered the desk in her room. Then there was the shelf bearing volumes on magical theories and battle techniques. The essays she had written… the books Kefka had read to her. She stared down at her hands. Was she bound to thank _him_ for nurturing her abilities? The abrupt clicking of Kefka's fingers made her start.

"Right. Slave Crown. I forgot that it makes you… well… forget."

He scrutinised his painted fingernails idly.

"It's the age old story. You can lead an Esper to water, but you can't make it not kill you in the process. But did Gestahl listen…?" He brought his pale hands together, then threw his arms into a wide arc, miming a colossal explosion. Kefka cracked a wry smile. "Like I said, he is an _idiot_."

"You're lying," Terra told him, with a greater sense of conviction than she actually felt.

"The crown was for our protection," Kefka continued, ignoring her, "call it a muzzle, a leash or whatever." He stopped to casually inspect a fleck of dust on his boot. "It kept us alive… well, for the most part. But let's not talk about that poor platoon you-"

"You're _lying_."

"Oh, so you're feel like you've got a real handle over these powers then?" Kefka raised his head, his interest peaked. Quite unexpectedly, an image surfaced from Terra's memory. Her mind was flooded by an ice-glazed mountain top, where the crystallised remains of a frozen esper had sat glinting eerily in the pale sunlight. She remembered the sting of frost against her hands as she backed against the ice, trying to shield the pitiful creature from the Empire's ambush. One touch had sent shockwaves through her body; set her skin on fire. Somewhere in the recess of her mind, a fantastic and terrible part of her which had lain dormant for so many years, had awoken. It seized her limbs and implored them to move of their own base instincts. The snow storm had swept up around her. She had passed into a white abyss. Then nothing.

"Don't worry, I _believe_ you," Kefka neatly sliced through her thoughts. The incision made Terra jerk violently from her reverie. "I'm sure you've never lost track of time or, you know, found yourself in a place with no idea of how you got there?"

She remembered awakening in a darkened street. The steady pummel of raindrops against her aching eyelids had roused her to her senses. Above her, the sky was grey and thick with smoke. The distorted sounds of raucous screams and jeers reached her ears and, in her panic, she had torn through an open doorway. Here, the walls were damp and coated with mould. Gasping, she had sat hunched in the bleak stairwell, her knees drawn into her chest. A cracked mirror hung from the wall opposite. Her face sliced into six segments. The shattered image of a yellow eye. She had fled.

"At least you're not _all_ monster." Kefka was at the bars again. He blinked melodramatically, raising an arm as if to recite a deeply profound sentiment. "There must be half a heart in there! Maybe that's enough to feel… _love_."

"No!"

Terra's hands combed into her hair, clutching at the sides of her head. The pain was too much too bear now; a blinding agony which ripped the very breath from her. Her thumbs slid beneath the tiara and prised the silver from her skin, tearing the dainty coronet from her hair. It rolled into the wall opposite with a clatter. With a howl of fury, Terra launched herself at the cell door. Her fingers found the collar of Kefka's ruff and roughly dragged his face level with her own. They stood for a moment, noses barely an inch apart, silent in their shared revulsion.

"I don't know what they're planning to do to you," Terra hissed, "but I hope you suffer more than _any_ living thing ever has."

She released him and turned away, her hand clapped across her mouth. Behind her, Kefka inclined his head towards her ear. His breath curled the hairs on the back of her neck. Terra shivered. Then, a venomous whisper poured a chill down her spine.

The bleak rows of grey flashed past as Terra ran. She did not care whether the guards saw her; she would not stop. Even if one of the Returners had stepped in her path, they could not have restrained her. She tore towards the palace's main corridor and took the spiralled staircase two steps at a time.

Inside her rooms, she barked at the attendants to leave her and slammed the door behind them. The layers of scrolls, a catalogue of her training, still covered the dressing table. In one swift motion, all were swept to the floor. Her bangles, beads, jewels were scattered after them. Terra seized her quills; snapped them in two. She broke, ripped, smashed, swore until there was nothing but debris littering the carpet. A pale face, twisted with hatred, glared back at her from the mirror.

It wasn't enough.

Exhausted, she sank against her pillows and stared up at the carved ceiling. Hours passed; she could not tell how quickly. Tears would not come this time. The night's darkness had diluted to a wash of sickly-grey. Muffled footsteps thudded beyond her chamber door; the sounds of preparation for the voyage which lay ahead. Without rest, without pause, her mind reeled with poisonous thoughts. Kefka's words seared her, as though they had been branded with hot iron.

"My suffering is drawing to an end. Yours has just begun, my sweet."

~̃*~*~̃

**Final Fantasy VI and its characters:** Squaresoft

**Kefka's line ("People who bite the hand that feeds them usually lick the boot that kicks them.")**: E. Hoffer


End file.
